


Bad moon rising

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angel!Lock, Angst, Demon!lock, F/M, Fluff, John!demon, Sherlock!demon hunter, Supernatural - Freeform, happy open ending, molly!demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 19:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: The bad moon has risen. The last battle for Earth has begun. The first victim is a Fallen - An angel that fell from heaven with the Evenstar.It is Dr. Molly Hooper.Sherlock has to investigate...and can barely manage..





	Bad moon rising

John froze as he listened to Greg’s cracking voice. The mobile almost slipped out of his hand. His grey eyes settled on the man on the desk, typing away on his laptop. Then they wandered to the window and John remembered…  _A bad moon rising._

“We’re coming”, he said into the speaker and hung up.

“I’m not leaving this flat tonight”, Sherlock announced stubbornly, wrapping his camel morning gown tighter around his upper body.

“Sherlock”, John said. His voice, now painted with the rasp sound of his true form, made his human friend look up. While they were looking at each other, John’s skin turned black. The scent of sulphur filled the room.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he shot out of his chair. If Dr. John Watson was willingly changing into his demonic form and with that risking of revoking the validity of his marriage to the human Mary Watson, something terrible must have happened.

A dread seeped into Sherlock’s heart, a fear that kept being buried deep within his heart. He had trained himself to hide this fear so no one would ever find out. Not them. Not even her. But even before he spoke, Sherlock knew he had failed. They had found out…somehow.

And now John was making his worst nightmare come true.

“They found her.”

 

**~oOo~**

 

Sherlock had sworn himself to remain calm and collected, but when they arrived at St. Bart’s hospital, his fingers were shaking. He had to close his eyes in the elevator, taking deep breaths. He had known this had been a possibility from the start. As soon as she had agreed to help him, to betray her kind, the very core of her being, and fight by his side, he knew that her existence would never be save.

He had prepared himself for this. In fact, there were several other of her kind he had found who would be willing to make the same sacrifices as her to help the fight for earth.

And yet he couldn’t chase away the picture of her big black eyes, her blood red skin – shimmering golden in the rising sun –, the cheeky adorning her face when once again she read his mind without his permission and that sweet chuckle that reminded him of her angelic origin every time.

Even now he was wondering why, when he thought about her, he only saw her in her demonic form, never in the sweet, harmless human shape she took up when she worked at Bart’s. He only envisioned the demon, with her short, twisted golden horns, the long tail with the sharp tip that could – and once had – cut the throat of a man, just as well as her nails and her sharp white teeth.

 

…And now he would never see her again. Never feel the rush of wind caused by her leathery wings when she landed next to him on the roof where she now…

He couldn’t finish the thought. He had to focus on sealing all that away. Face the remains of her carcass like the professional he was. Find the traces that would lead to her murderers. It surely had taken more than one to kill her. His Molly was a fighter.

His…no, not his. Never his. He had never let her see…

Sherlock shook his head. The elevator dinged its arrival.

 

Everything around him was subdued. He could hardly hear anything. His legs felt weak and his hands were still shaking. He felt light-headed and his vision was fogged. He could hardly made out the hallway or the people gathered in it. He assumed they were Demon Fighting Force, but the figures surrounding him were all blurry. Lestrade was with him, he believed. He was continuously speaking to him but Sherlock didn’t understood a single word. That was until something echoed within him.

_A bad moon rising._

They finally stepped outside into the night. Sherlock blinked. His eyes drifted upwards. The world around him sharpened again.

The full moon. Red as blood.

_The bad moon risen._

“The final battle is near, Sherlock.”

“Then why come for her?”

His own voice sounded strange to him, Sherlock thought. He could see the crime scene just a few feet away out of the corners of his eyes, the people standing around it, cleaning the acid blood from the walls and the floor. There was a black wing sticking to the balustrade next to him. But Sherlock wasn’t ready to face all this. Not yet.

“For all we know…they were trying to get to you.”

Sherlock stiffened. The pain of the truth was paralysing.

“No, Sherlock. I didn’t mean it like this. She knew the risk when she switched sides.”

Yes, yes, he knew all this. It didn’t ease the pain.

Sherlock took a deep breath. There was still the smell of sulphur and burned skin.

“There was at least one crawler and one raptor at the scene.”

This was what he must focus on, Sherlock thought and forced himself to lower his gaze. Deductions. Focusing on the crime. Inspect the corpse. The wounds. Claw marks. Bite marks…

“Is the head still there?”

“Yes. We disturbed them before they could devour her.”

“Disturb them? You knew?!”

Lestrade flinched. Sherlock’s voice had been a sharp knife. The head of the Demon hunt department gulped.

“We…heard her cries. Had someone watch the hospital…”

Sherlock’s knees dared to give in for a second.

“They were at least five. It was done quickly.”

“And painful”, Sherlock bit out, a foul taste filling his mouth. He couldn’t stand this much longer.

He had to get it over with. Logic. He had to cling to the things he knew, he was best at. Not let this tornado of feelings overwhelm him.

Reaching into his coat, he crossed the roof and walked to the pieces of the killed demon. He pulled out his kit of tools he used for analysis and sample-taking.

Without further hesitation, he got to work, starting with getting an overview of the crime scene.

It had been a bad fight. Lestrade was right, there had been five attackers. Two crawlers, these wingless demons with teeth and claws so sharp they cut easily cut through stone and metal. They were the wildest and most brutal beasts humans had encountered. John was the only one who Sherlock had ever had spoken to.

The other 3 had been winged. No footprints. Judging from the quick and brutal work, this attacked must have been planned quite some time. Otherwise they would never have been able to destroy her. She had been one of the Fallen. The Old, the Sinners, the ones that once had felt the holy light on their skins; the most powerful ones of them all.

“They must have gotten their hands on some bandeaux. Otherwise she would have heard them coming. Have you informed Mycroft?”

“No.”

“Then do that now. We have to hunt them down. The battle is already lost if they keep the mind shields.”

“All right.”  
“And take your dogs with you! I need to concentrate and your people can’t stop lamenting. It’s annoying.”

Lestrade gave him a long look.

“Fine.”

With a bark he ordered his agents to leave the roof. Sherlock pretended to ignore them, to keep his focus on the hole in the balustrade the acid blood had caused until the door behind him fell close.

Sherlock paused.

Now that he was alone with her, he could practically feel her physical remains. Every scattered limb…

He started with an arm. Inspecting her hand, taking samples from the black skin piled up under her long black nails. He did the same with her clawed feet. After that, he inspected the symbols carved into her ruby skin, identifying her as one of the Fallen. She had told him the story of each and everyone of them. She had hated them. Markings identifying her as a slave, she had said.

Sherlock agreed, yet he couldn’t deny the beauty of the golden lines, curves and circles, painted in perfect harmony. Disconnected in various places by scars, some of them old, some young.

Throughout the eras, she had tried to scratch, cut and bite these markings out of her flesh. At her shoulder, her belly (there was nothing left of that), her legs and her arms.

Her arms…

Sherlock frowned. His finger traced the curved line above her elbow up. There should be a scar here. He had looked at it countless of times. But there wasn’t. No scar…

His train of thoughts was interrupted when he heard stone being stabbed again and again.

Someone was working his way up the façade of the hospital.

Sherlock jumped up.

A crawler!

In a swift movement, his blessed long dagger was drawn from the sheath by his hip. Blood was rushing through his veins as he stepped between the noise and the corpse. He wouldn’t let them have her. A quick glance spotted the detached head and he made elegant side steps to it.

They would not get one more piece of her…

A shadow sprang onto the roof and Sherlock crouched, ready to ditch the pounce he expected.

Nothing of the sort happened. The crawler straightened and raised his hands.

“Sherlock, it’s me.”

John.

Sherlock gasped. The adrenalin was pumping through his veins.

This time, his knees did gave in. Seeing John, his best friend, made him remember what he had lost tonight.

John was at his sight in a second, kicking away the dagger that had the power to hurt him just by close proximity.

“She’s gone, John. This is all that’s left. They killed my Molly. I will destroy each and single one of them.”

“Sherlock-”

“The bad moon has risen, John. There is no way back now. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that”, a third voice added.   
Sherlock froze, his head snapping around.

A gust of wind hit his face, then another shadow landed right in front of him.

The blood soiled moon caused the red skin and the golden lines to shimmer. Sherlock’s lip parted as his eyes filled with tears.

“I would miss you. And little Jamie certainly would be very cross with you if you died.”

“Molly…”

Sherlock whispered, clutching John’s arm.

It was her. In all her glory. The wings folding across her shoulders, the tail whipping behind her in that certain manner of her.

“Sorry for the mess. I…”, she cleared her throat, “…I might have lost a little control there. Hard to fight those damned demon instincts to eat each other. John.”

Molly nodded to the crawler in greeting, who instantly bowed, showing her his submission. Molly instantly relaxed and a smile spread on the lips Sherlock had so often glimpsed at.

“It was a changeling.”

Molly blew some air through her nose.

“Yes. Tried to piss me off with it. Well, it obviously worked.”

There it was. The chuckle. This angelic chuckle that could brighten the darkest night.

His heart started beating again.

“Oh, I’ve got something for you.”

Demon Molly reached behind her and unhooked five silver bandeaux from her belt.

“Thought your brother might want these back. They were trying to get away with them, bastards. Took me forever to catch them all. I think I’m getting old. A thousand years ago I would have caught them in five minutes…”

Sherlock couldn’t bear it any more. Letting out another gasp he got on his feet and crossed the distance between himself and Molly.

In a swift movement he cupped her cheeks, ignoring the pain shooting through his hands from the contact with her way too hot skin and, and pulled her face to him roughly, sealing her babbling lips with his.

Pain and lust flooded him as soon as he tasted her, a phenomenon which he had only heard of from Mary. Kissing a demon in his true form was overwhelming for the human mind and body.

But kissing a Fallen…tears streamed over his face as he held onto her, feeling the divine love, this warming flame inside her heart, only a shadow of what once was. He could feel the loss of it, this eternal pain that had blackened her heart and had turned her into what she now was. And the yearning, oh God, the yearning to have it back, to feel loved and cherished and wanted again. It filled him, dared to rip his soul apart.

“Sherlock, no!”

Molly had pushed him away from her. While Sherlock was still trying to cope with all these feelings that weren’t his, Molly changed into her human form.

Naked in her human shell she went to him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, frightened, cradling his face, wiping the tears away.

Sherlock wrapped his arms and coat around her, pulling her flush against him.

“Molly…”

“Sherlock. Oh, Sherlock. You can never again kiss me in my true form. You are not allowed to console me, or ease the pain. I’m a Fallen, Sherlock. I’m not my own.”

Sherlock cradled her face.

“I don’t care.”

Molly shook her head again. But before she could protest further, Sherlock kissed her again.

In her human form, there wasn’t a empathic exchange. Only their hungry, desperate lips and tongues.

They clung to each other, disappearing in their kiss, allowing themselves to be free. Just one moment of unison in a world that was falling apart.

Way too soon, Molly ended the kiss.

“Never again, Sherlock. Never again”, she whispered, tears that her kind couldn’t shed anymore swimming in her eyes.

One last, open look with nothing hidden away, their feelings and hearts bare, then Molly’s eyes blackened again. Stepping out of his embrace, she changed into her demon form.

There was nothing left to say between them. So Molly spread her black wings, the swoosh of air causing Sherlock’s black curls to bounce.

A melancholic smile lingered on her lips as she granted herself one last look at the human she loved and would always love.

Then she turned around and a swing of her mighty wings hurled her into the night air.

Molly looked up at the full moon.

  
_Bad moon rising._

  
It may already be to late. With the blood moon risen, the final battle had commenced. The human race might not be worthy to be saved. But Molly would fight for them until the end.

 

…For him.


End file.
